The Merchant
by Paint a story. Write a picture
Summary: When Farne loses it all to gambling, can a mysterious stranger get him back on his feet? And, when the benefactor cheats him of all his money, can he survive in poverty? This fic is also on the RuneScape forums, check Prologue for details.
1. Prologue

**The Merchant**

A/N: I've got this story running on the RuneScape Forums, feel free to check it out at: **49-50-374-59390054. **My RuneScape name is Futile Crush just so you know where to find me :P.

**PROLOGUE**

Elation was a feeling I had long since been starved of.

In fact, ever since that fateful day I had been deprived of everything. No home, no shelter, and the few scraps of food I can forage hardly make a worthy meal. The only thing I can hold close to me are the memories, the memories of what life was like before it all happened. I hold it close to me like a burning flame, yet, even that will soon dwindle to nothing.

Of course, I had learnt my lesson.

In the days of my youth, I used to believe that all those in the world were good and kind, that strangers wishing to lend a helping hand were genuine, that any concerns were for myself and not for their own self-actualisation.

I know better now. Sometimes, my hatred for society boils over, the least I can do is restrain myself from lashing out at innocent bypassers who stare at me disdainfully by the side of the street, while I huddle upon the pile of rags serving as a make-shift pillow.

Most of all, I loathe THEM. The ones who took it all away from me.


	2. How it all started

**The Merchant**

**CHAPTER 1: How it all started**

_Some time ago ..._

Sun shone upon the merry streets of Varrock city, filling every orifice with a midsummer light. Not a single cloud filled the sky, it was an auspicious day indeed. As a matter of fact, I was counting on luck this very day.

I had good odds, after all. It was hard to believe anything could go wrong.

My name is Farne, and I'm a betting man. I look upon those who live life carefully, never taking any risks and getting nowhere. To them I say, 'Why? Is it not better with the prospect of a huge fortune than never to have an opportunity?' I must admit, I've made considerable fortunes in the past, betting on all sorts of things and, generally, winning.

My wife seems to have no trouble with these habits of mine. Long ago, she gave up on pestering me about my love of gambling, she couldn't see the point in pursuing the matter when so often I would bring home money.

I've often wished to train in the art of combat, several valuable pieces of weaponry have passed under my eyes, tokens of my bets, but combat has never suited me. In the great city of Varrock, guarded by the noble and well-trained militia of Captain Rovin, I have nothing to fear and no need of combat.

True, where I'm heading now is hardly the most promising, but with dozens of spectators, what is there to fear? Many are more practiced than I with a sword, a bow or a cairn of runestones, I don't need to defend myself.

---

"Nah, yer a fool, look a' the legs on B, 'e'll win fer sure."  
"I promise you, every time I've bet on G, I've never lost."  
"That's because 'e's never even tak'n part in a race, yer twit."

As I studied the crowd closely, standing among the ranks of foresters, farmers, business tycoons and other eager spectators, I noted with amusements the usual rows over the best bet had begun. I didn't bother entering these debates, I was waiting for the real fun to begin, as I placed my own bet.

Things would go my way today.

So, now I should tell you just what I'm doing, standing in the remote parts of the Wilderness north of Varrock city. This is one of many favourite sports of mine. Several city-folk have quarrel with this sort of activity, I myself see nothing wrong with a bit of light entertainment.

Slaves, taken by cultists, outlaws and thugs from deeper within the Wilderness should anyone be careless enough to venture their way, were pitted against one another in races, trained endlessly, then bets were placed to see who would win.

I glanced over the slaves with distaste, noting the sinewy muscles upon them, the worn looks on their faces and their lack of dignity in general. No matter, I thought, as I quickly begun my evaluation. Looking at the one standing by the spot marked "D", I noted his height, considerable legs and a look of stamina about him. It was obvious, this would be my bet.

I quickly wrote upon a slip of paper:

~~~~~~  
Farne Williams  
Entrant D  
1,000,000 gold pieces.

Handing over the betting slip to a grubby man with few teeth and a stubbled chin, I took my seat and waited for the excitement to begin.

Soon, I would get my money. I had done this all before dozens of times, this day would be no different. I whispered a quick prayer to Saradomin just as the marksman signalled for the slaves to get ready. His sword hanging from his left hand, he held up a single finger on his right hand.

Several of the slaves looked about them, confused. The marksman held up another finger. Some of them got the idea, and nervously lined up behind a start line.

"Go!" The marksman roared, raising his sword.


	3. The slip up

**The Merchant**

**CHAPTER 2: The slip-up**

Some of the slaves set off, others looked around, confused, while some were backing away from the start line with a look of terror in their eyes. A rough and surly man from the crowd fired a haphazard arrow at the late starters, which missed the neck of one of the slaves by a hairs breadth, but they got the impression and began to run.

I was dismayed. For once, the prospects of the slave I had bet on looked bleak, he had started quite late and had to be ushered onwards, towards the track set in the barren soil of the wilderness.

Angered, I joined the ranks of the crowd, pummelling the air with my fist and yelling. I could only hope for some sort of miracle, as the slave finally set off. The track ran around the edge of the crowd, we were therefore able to follow their progress and ensure that they towed the line and stuck to the race.

Soon, however, one of the slaves got scared. Careering away from the race track, he made a desperate bid to duck in between the sparse trees, but one of the marshalls caught him first, pulling him roughly by the collar of his dirty clothes and casting filthy words at him.

What followed next was grisly, but soon, looking worse for wear and considerably bruised, the slave set back onto the race track, most likely expecting further penalties for his misbehaviour.

I had to admit, I wasn't all that fond of seeing the slaves physically beaten, perhaps goaded a bit, but I did not bother to pay any further thought to the matter, I returned to following the progress of my bet. He was lagging behind, clutching a stitch in his side. I soon grew angry. He was going to lose.

"No! Pick it up, get moving!" I roared at him, one of many shouting for the slaves to go faster. But they were empty words and had no effect, as he approached the start line and passed in seventh place, I was clutching at my hair in a bestial rage, realising what this one slip-up had cost me.

"That'll be one million gold pieces, sir." The grubby bet collector shuffled over to me, holding his hand out expectantly, indifferent to the torrent of emotion going through my mind right now, rage, anger, and guilt.

---

Soon, the crowds began to disperse, some, like me, looking bitter and filled with disappointment mingled with anger, others grinning jovially with a stride in their step and a full money-bag jingling at their waists.

Some rounded on the slaves, needing something to take their anger out on and with nobody to stop them, others hung their head low and retreated towards the safety of the ditch that separated the wilderness from society.

After a half hour with the cloudless sky taunting my huge loss, I arrived at the gates of Varrock. The guards looked determinedly ahead, ignoring the many people pouring into the city as if they were not there.

Finding my way towards my house where my wife awaiting, I began to think of a decent excuse to explain the huge gap in my money-bag.

I did not knock, instead I fumbled with the key and let myself in, to find my dear wife by the fireside.

"Hello, Rose," I greeted her wearily and joined her in the parlour, slumping down into the comfortable armchair. Rosalina, a fine woman in her thirties with shoulder-length brown hair and curious eyes of the same shade, had a passion for embroidery, it was therefore of no surprise to me that she sat with some sewing needles and a length of thread. I had no appreciation for such an art, but had to admit that Rose was good, she had produced many fine items of clothing and beauty.

"Farne," she smiled warmly. "I hope all has gone well?"  
I said nothing, but instead gestured the silky material laid upon the lump over her chest.

"What are you making, my dear?" I asked conversationally, hoping to steer the conversation away from my day's endeavours.  
"It will be here soon," she said wistfully. "I decided to fashion something for the baby."

As she said this, I once more felt a warm feeling at the mention of the baby that she was going to have. I tried to imagine myself as a father. And then, with a pang of guilt I remembered the money I had lost again. Would I be able to support a family like this?

I came to a decision. I would have to tell her.

"Rose, I'm afraid I have some bad news."  
Rose looked at my shrewdly. Well aware of my gambling habits, she knew that bad news for me could mean only one thing.

"How much?" she asked urgently.  
"Excuse me?"  
"Am I right in thinking that you've lost one of your little bets?"  
"I'm afraid you are, my dear."

Rosalina sighed, and repeated the question.  
"How much?"  
"One million gold pieces."  
"What?!" She gave a startled yelp that made the both of us jump, I desperately attempted to think of something that could calm her down, it was not good for her to be in a state of distress.

"Darling, I can make the money back at the first opportunity -"  
"Farne, I'm not going to question your love of gambling, if that's the path you must choose, then so be it." She had stopped yelling. "But you must find a career to support it! Every day you run the same risk that today has become apparent once more. If you lose money again, we won't have anything to give ourselves food, to pay for the upkeep of the house and ..."

Her voice dropped to a pleading note.  
"The baby, Farne, think about the child. How can we expect to raise it in poverty?"

"I'm sorry, Rosie," I got up from my chair and kneeled down beside her, holding her hand gently. "You're right. I'll find work. And I'll try to gamble less, I really will."

She looked at me doubtfully.

"I promise," I assured her with a confident smile. Slowly, she returned the smile, and I gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Then, I got to my feet and made my way towards the door.

"Where are you going?" She asked.

"Why wait?" I smiled. "That job won't find itself. I had better start!"

I was rewarded with a trusting smile, and I closed the door behind me, praying that my will would hold and I would stick to my promise.


End file.
